Spring

Before they disappear, run out and get those early season asparagus and fresh garlic bulbs and make this dish or the kitchen gods will be angry. This is a very versatile soup – it can be eaten, hot, lukewarm and cold. Unlike 99.99% of asparagus soups served in restaurants especially those in Paris, this soup has no cream. But it does have a secret fatty ingredient.

1.5 pounds asparagus – chopped
Reserve tips of 3 asparagus and mince very finely
4 cloves fresh spring garlic – garlic greens are also good (for a nice switcheroo substitute baby or spring ginger which is just coming into season – about a 1/2 inch piece chopped)
1/2 cup raw pumpkin seeds
3 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1/4 cup sake or dry white wine like a sauvignon blanc
Salt and ground black pepper to taste
Couple of pinches of coriander powder

1. Heat stock for 2 minutes; add all the ingredients except the minced asparagus tips and coriander. Heat under medium heat (covered) for 10 minutes.

2. Pour contents in a blender (if you have a Vitamix there is no need to strain it, but you may want to strain it to remove any woody asparagus pulp if you have a regular blender) for 3 minutes until completely smooth.

3. Pour contents back in pot under low heat for 10 minutes, add coriander powder and adjust salt.

4. Serve in bowls and garnish with minced asparagus.

Green and white floral combos stop me in my tracks. But there is sometimes that mutation, veering shade, or complete stray in the garden that just makes a splash and causes me to stop and just wonder at the simple elegance of flower in a different shade. In this case, a pink dogwood is the variance from the white floral scheme.

A dogwood, Cornus florida, is stunning in its creamy white blousy bloom set against the green of longleaf pines, new green oak leafs, and all the freshness that only a chartreuse spring can herald. Just like genetics can give one sibling curls and another iron-strait locks, the plant family can express genes in the same fashion.

Then, after taking note of such a pink perfection blooming on the side of my house, I began to relish at the thought of grouping these pinky phenoms with other rosy hues. Pretty in pink just came to mind.

Some of Granddaddy’s first roses of this vernal equinox were crowning the bush’s stems and begging one to stop and smell – stop and smell and clip for a bouquet! Even the waxy florets of Indian hawthorn (Raphiolepis indica) tucked into the mix with a few azalea blossoms and the first fronds of maiden hair fern began to shape this arrangement, all held by a silver stein.

When my in-laws from Rhode Island were visiting recently, I mentioned that our strawberry season was coming to a close.

My mother-in-law said, "You mean it's starting, right?

"Nope," I said. "California's strawberry season usually starts in January and ends in June."

"But I don't understand. That's when our strawberry season is just starting," she said. 

Exactly.

California is the advanced-gifted child in the classroom of strawberry production. The United States produces about 2 billion pounds of strawberries every year, 90% of which are grown here. Thanks to our temperate climate, we're able to produce strawberries in the wintertime and ship them across the country. That's why people in Massachusetts can buy fresh strawberries at the Stop & Shop in frigid February.

A couple of weeks ago I experienced a revelation: I tasted my first pea shoot.

I was at the Little Italy Mercato buying Asian produce from The Vangs, also known as Mr. and Mrs. Green. After purchasing Thai basil, fresh ginger and sugar snap peas, I asked, "What do pea shoots taste like?"

She replied, with no sarcasm, "Peas."

She tore a small piece off one of the leaves and handed it to me. I bit into it and suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, harp music began playing, and I floated ever so slightly off of the pavement.

OK, that's not exactly what happened. There was no harp music. It was Spanish music being played by a local band.